Besides being pretty darned cute, this joke, I’ve always suspected, has something deeper to reveal about Western attitudes, toward Zen in specific, Eastern thought more broadly, and most generally of all, our poorly perceived relationship to each other and the universe at large.

I’ve been a practicing Buddhist for twelve years now (ironically enough, ever since around the time of the last war brought to you by the Bush family.) For most of that time, I’ve kept my mouth shut about my practice, for a couple of simple reasons. First and foremost, it’s just considered bad Zen form to prattle on about it. “Him who’ll tell ya, don’t know. Him who knows, won’t tell ya” (my hillbilly stab at Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching). Secondly, upon hearing that I’m a Buddhist, most people tend to react to the novelty of it, rather than the substance. “That’s wild!”. . . “That’s crazy!”. . . “Only you, Paul!”. . . “We’ll see how long that lasts!” Since Buddhism is decidedly not a religion of conversion, I see little up side in telling people I follow it. But in these darkening days of terror and hatred and waste, I’ve begun to feel that it’s incumbent on me to pipe up about a practice that has helped me face these things; and while it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, it may just offer some unique and rarely considered perspectives on our world and our place in it.

So what’s the problem with make me one with everything? In a nutshell: you can’t make someone, even yourself “one”, any more than you can make yourself obey the law of gravity. You areone with everything, whether you like it or not, and that oneness necessitates inevitabilities and responsibilities that all of us as human beings ignore at our peril and the greater suffering of everyone.

Americans are very comfortable being powerful, because we are so convinced that we are right. And much of the time we are. Alas, the universe responds with an profound “So what?” For just as you can’t make someone “one with everything”, you can’t coerce someone to be free, and you can’t force someone to give up force. You can only force them to force you to use more force. The Buddha recognized such recursively misguided action as a trap. He compared it to trying to still the ripples of a pond by patting them down with your hand. (In the case of our recent actions in Iraq, I’d compare it to smacking an oar down on the water. These violent ripples we’re currently creating won’t go away in our lifetime.)

From the Buddhist perspective, every bullet fired, is fired at your own head, or, if you find it more terrifying, your own child’s head. The upside of this is that every kind act-- every bow, every smile--is an action done for, a bow made to, a smile smiled for everyone. In our actions in the world, it is our responsibility to ask ourselves, very simply: are we adding to its suffering, or healing it? Every day we must ask the question, and every day, change the answer based on what the day gives us and what we give in return (though of course, we are the day, and it us.)